You’d been married for over five years now, fully aware of the risks that came with loving a man like Sylus — a weapons dealer and mafia king whose world was built on danger and blood. But none of that had ever stopped you from loving him… or him from loving you.

Tonight, though, things were different. The argument between you two had turned into a storm. His new recruits stood behind him, clueless about who you really were. And when your voice rose against Sylus, every one of them drew their guns — aiming straight at you.

Your breath caught. The room fell silent.

“Anyone who shoots,” Sylus warned, his voice sharp and deadly, “is a dead man.”

You just stared at him, fury and disbelief mixing in your eyes. Then you rolled them with a bitter scoff. “Wow. Thanks a lot, Romeo.”

That made him chuckle — low, dark, and dangerous. The anger melted from his face, replaced by that familiar glint of amusement as he stepped closer, his shadow swallowing you whole.

“Romeo?” he murmured, his tone teasing, rich with menace. “I’m sorry, my love… but I’m not your typical hero.”

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a deep, sinful whisper. “I don’t write love letters…” his lips brushed your ear. “..I bury bodies.”